


A Token Of Gratitude

by CherryK



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Girion's Emeralds, Hand Jobs, M/M, Prompt Fill, you will have to squint to find the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3387689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryK/pseuds/CherryK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The elven king always appeared so cold, was seemingly made of marble and silver, and yet he radiated warmth in a way that made Bard’s chest ache, making him feel the need to press closer. Their faces were mere inches apart; it would be so easy to lean forward and seal those lips with a kiss...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Token Of Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

> **Edit 12-22-2015: Holy buttcrack, I never thought that this would end up being my most-read fanfic on here... Thank you all so much for reading and leaving kudos or comments, it really means a lot to me! ;w;**
> 
> Anon on tumblr prompted:  
> Barduil prompt; after the battle bard presents the elvenking the Emeralds of Girion, his family's heirlooms recovered from Erebor. Thran likes them so much he refuses to take the necklace off, even after all of the rest of his clothing comes off

The emeralds of Girion caught the last rays of sunlight, dispersing them into a bright spectrum of colours and illuminating the entire tent. This necklace, recently recovered heirloom of Bard’s family, was hardly enough to repay the elven king for everything he had done for Bard’s people, but it was all he could give, for nothing else in his possession could ever do Thranduil’s ethereal appearance justice. The elf, though, seemed captivated by the gift presented to him, just as much as Bard found himself captivated by him. Flecks of light danced across porcelain skin and pale lips were parted ever so lightly, giving away the often so stoic king’s surprise. Bard had wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips, to caress the skin underneath those silver robes, pulling at silken hair until the king’s head would fall back with a moan, Bard’s name on his lips…

“I am humbled, Dragonslayer, to be receiving what you only just retrieved from the depths of Erebor. It truly is… magnificent.”

Bard snapped out of his fantasies at the sound of Thranduil’s voice. He could clearly feel a blush creeping up his neck, which – by the looks of it – did not go unnoticed.

“It… it is the least I can provide in return for your generosity, my Lord. We would not have survived this battle without your aid.”

A small smirk graced Thranduil’s fair features as he rounded the table, Girion’s emeralds in hand. He stood right before Bard, almost a little too close for the bowman’s taste. He noted the faint smell of lavender that surrounded the elf. Bard didn’t find it in him to take a step backwards to put the appropriate amount of space back between them.

“Do you not think that, as we are soon to be on equal terms, you would do well to drop the formalities, Bard Bowman, heir of Girion, future king of Dale? Have you not heard the crowd cheering and shouting your name?”

“Aye, I have… still, it all seems so unreal. I am but a simple bargeman and-“

Something fierce flickered across Thranduil’s eyes. “Hear my words! You are far more than a _simple bargeman_.” He paused, examining the necklace once more. The bowman swallowed.

“I must take leave of this place soon. Certainly you will now be able to get on without the help of my people.”

Bard felt his heart drop at his words. He had become used to the elf’s presence, used to the large tent put up at the edge of town. The bowman could yet feel himself beginning to miss Thranduil. He would return to Mirkwood, to his large palace below the forest, much more suitable for a king of his grace than this tent. He would take Girion’s emeralds with him, the gems that suited him so well, the rich green a stark contrast to his pale skin and the silver shining just like his hair. For a moment too long Bard failed to realise that he was staring at Thranduil with an expression of longing.

The elven king searched his eyes, his own never giving away his thoughts. He allowed his gaze to drop down briefly to the mortal man’s mouth. It was… peculiar, really, how the thought of claiming those lips seemed to light a fire low in his abdomen.

“Say, Dragonslayer, would you mind lending me your hand…?” Thranduil met Bard’s eyes again, suddenly holding out the necklace to him.  
It took Bard a moment to understand, but soon he took the emeralds from the elf, who pushed his silver mane aside so Bard could reach around his neck more easily.

The bowman stepped closer almost hesitantly; he was very much aware of himself. Heat rose up to his cheeks again, tainting them with a flush, and heat was also beginning to pool elsewhere inside his body. Intoxicated by the now noticeably stronger scent of lavender Bard visibly struggled to clasp together the two ends of the piece of jewellery.  
The elven king always appeared so cold, was seemingly made of marble and silver, and yet he radiated warmth in a way that made Bard’s chest ache, making him feel the need to press closer. Their faces were mere inches apart; it would be so easy to lean forward and seal those lips with a kiss. The clasp finally clicked shut in Bard’s hands, but still he made no move to pull back. Carefully he adjusted the jewellery, letting his fingertips ghost across the skin of Thranduil’s neck not quite accidentally. The elven king suppressed a sharp intake of breath at the contact. Now the bold bowman’s hands made their way to his throat, guided by the cool silver chain that held Girion’s emeralds. Just short of his collarbones they stopped. Bard looked up at the elf again. A silent question lay in his gaze, which was promptly answered when he found Thranduil’s lips parted and his pupils blown, the icy blue almost swallowed by black. Bard let an audible sigh escape him as he brought their lips together fiercely.

This sensation was beyond anything he had ever dared to imagine. Thranduil responded to his advances immediately, pale lips moving velvety against his own. Bard dropped his arms to sneak them around his waist and pulled him closer, drawing a gasp from him. He had waited so long for this moment, never believing it would actually come. Now the elven king was finally his. Purposefully he caught Thranduil’s lower lip between his teeth, then slipped his tongue into his mouth, tasting the remnants of expensive dorwinion wine. The elf’s hands came up to tug at Bard’s tunic, desperate to touch skin. Quickly Bard discarded the fabric, letting it fall to the floor carelessly. There were more urgent matters to attend to.

He kissed his way along Thranduil’s jawline back to his pointed ear, which he gave a tentative lick. The elf whimpered, shuddering in his arms. Fingernails dug into his shoulders just hard enough to be painful. He bent lower to reach his neck, where he could feel the heavy thrum of his pulse against his lips. Bard couldn’t resist leaving a mark on the soft skin. He didn’t care whether it would be visible to others.

It drove him mad how breathless Thranduil sounded against his ear. The pair of breeches he was wearing was beginning to feel uncomfortably tight and, judging by the way the other was holding on to him, he was not the only one facing that problem . Bard hastily began to work on the fastenings of the elf’s luxurious robes, but found himself unable to loosen them, unaccustomed to the complexity of elvish tailoring. Still, the robes needed to get off. Quickly. Bard was losing his patience. He didn’t realise he was cursing under his breath until Thranduil pushed his fumbling hands away.

“Let me.”

Within seconds the robes were unfastened and one inexplicably elegant move later they were pooled around the elf’s feet, soon to be joined by fine undergarments.

_‘Flawless’_ seemed to be the only word the bowman was capable of forming in his head. He drank in the sight of chiselled muscles and could feel Thranduil’s eyes on him as his gaze travelled lower, down to the waistband of his trousers. A pale hand grasped his calloused one, guiding it to rest low on his waist, while the elf claimed his lips in another kiss. It was all tongue and teeth in their need. Bard dragged sly fingers down his abdomen and over his clothed arousal, revelling in how he leaned into the touch. Thranduil moaned into the kiss shamelessly. The bowman continued to caress him through his clothing, allowing more friction. He maneuvered them backwards, so Thranduil was leaning against the table. He took a moment to admire the sensual expression on his face, panting slightly through red, parted lips after they broke apart. His cock twitched as the elf looked at him again through heavily lidded eyes.

“… Finish what you’ve started.”

Bard would gladly take him up on that challenge. Before finally getting rid of the last remaining piece of clothing Thranduil was wearing, he reached up again to take Girion’s emeralds off his neck, so they would not suffer any damage. His hands were promptly swatted away. A daring stare was enough to tell Bard that they were staying where they now belonged. _Fine, then._ With a low growl he worked open the garment and pushed it down the elf’s legs, finally freeing his erection.

He wasn’t too sure what he had been expecting, but _this_ was definitely more than he had bargained for. The bowman, incapable of holding back a moan, lost his breeches where he stood and dropped to his knees. Thranduil hissed audibly as a pair of lips wrapped around his length. Bard looked up at him questioningly, as if to ask for permission, but the hands tangled in his hair at the back of his head urged him on impatiently. Obligingly he then gave the elf’s cock an experimental suck. He was granted with a blissful sigh, so he resumed his work, running his tongue along the underside all the way to the head. He released him once again and gently pressed his lips to the very tip, before taking him back into his mouth and setting a rougher pace.

It was obvious soon that the elven king was trying hard to resist the urge to buck his hips forward to force Bard to take him deeper. The bowman’s hand firmly cupping the curve of his ass wasn’t doing anything to improve the situation either. As though he had sensed this, he pulled away, only a string of saliva still connecting him to Thranduil’s hard shaft. His breathing had become ragged, he was holding on to Bard like a lifeline, his eyes closed. Grazing his fingers over the elf’s behind and teasing lightly at his hole earned Bard a startled gasp. Thranduil, although temporarily ridden of his capability to speak, managed to direct him to a nearby drawer then. According to his hurried description it would contain a vial of clear oil. Bard wasted no time. He pulled the cork from the vial with his teeth and quickly slicked up his fingers before slowly pushing a digit into Thranduil.

The strangled noise he elicited from the elven king was beyond anything he had heard so far. His own neglected erection became awfully hard to ignore and he had to set his mind firmly on not touching himself, for he would probably have come then and there. He began to move inside of him carefully, relishing the moans and gasps the other made.

With each desperate scratch of nails against his scalp Bard’s frustration grew. A second finger followed the first, slipping in easily and forcing him open wider. Thranduil shuddered. His knees almost gave way at the sensation, catching Bard by surprise. He halted the steady pumping of his fingers and supported the elven king, leaning into him slightly.

“Alright?” he panted against his hip, lips ghosting across the skin there.

“Don’t just… stop…” came the elf’s faint response from above him.

Bard grinned mischievously, pushing into him even further. He could tell the other was close. He wanted to hear his name on Thranduil’s lips and he was going to make him cry it out. He began to thrust his fingers again, slowly and searching for that one spot that would reduce the elven king, this ethereal being, to a writhing mess.

It didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for and Thranduil’s reaction was a sight to behold. Moaning wantonly he arched into Bard’s hand, trying to keep him in place. Precum collected at the tip of his rigid cock. Bard increased the pace of his movements and got back on his feet. He drew Thranduil into a hungry kiss, swallowing his sounds and biting swollen red lips. His other hand traced lazy patterns across his chest and finally found its way up to his neck, where it latched onto something cold.

Girion’s emeralds.

Bard pulled away to look at the elf again. Only now did he realise just how perfectly those emeralds fit him – luscious green on porcelain skin. The bowman brushed the jewels against Thranduil’s collarbone, then let go of them and let his hand wander lower. He caressed his dripping length with feather light touches. The elven king was on the edge.

“You’re perfect…” he purred into his ear, teeth grazing its sensitive shell. Thranduil groaned.

“I… Bard, please-“

Bard decided he had teased him enough. His grip on the elf’s cock tightened. He began to stroke it in time with the thrusts of his fingers, each one hitting his sweet spot straight on.

“Come for me.”

Those words were enough to make him come undone. Shaking with the force of his release Bard’s name fell from his lips like a mantra, his cum felt hot on the bowman’s skin. There was no way he could take this any longer. He slid his hand out of Thranduil’s rear and finished himself off with a few quick strokes, sighing deeply as he finally collapsed against the elf, who was leaning heavily against the table behind him.

For some time they simply breathed in unison, basking in the afterglow of their orgasms. Bard was resting his head in the crook of the taller elf’s neck, arms loosely draped around his middle. The necklace was pressing uncomfortably into his cheek – it would probably leave a mark there – but he couldn’t have cared less. What he was more concerned about was what _this,_ whatever it was, meant for their future. Thranduil seemed content with him in his arms now, but things could change with the rising sun. Bard didn’t allow himselhf to hope just yet.

“Dragonslayer… Bard.”

“Hm?”

“What is the meaning of all this?”

Bard swallowed. “I… am not sure.”

He already prepared himself to be banished from the tent, but the elven king remained silent.

“My lor- …Thranduil?”

“Yes?”

“Take it as a token of my gratitude. Thank you. For everything.”

Bard was too worn out to raise his head, but he could have sworn that Thranduil was smiling into his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Today on "I Have No Idea What I'm Doing": First time ever writing smut. I had a hard time with this piece, really...  
> You can also read this on [tumblr](http://cherry-yukai.tumblr.com/post/111395925357/barduil-prompt-after-the-battle-bard-presents-the)!


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